While my wife and I were serving brunch today, two Jehovah Witnesses knocked on our door.

I am grateful to the Jehovah Witnesses. There was a time in my life when I was homeless, living in my car, and a family of Jehovah Witnesses took me into their home and gave me a room off their kitchen that I shared with a man who routinely spoke in tongues and a goat.

I know that sounds like something out of one of my books, but it’s true.

Despite their generosity and my genuine affection for anyone kind enough to offer a roof to someone in need, I enjoy tormenting Jehovah Witnesses whenever I can, simply because they are so difficult to anger or offend. For years, I had a standing meeting with two Jehovah Witnesses in my old neighborhood, and over the years, we became genuine friends. We would meet on Wednesday evenings for an hour, during which time they would try to save my soul while I tried my best to say outrageous things that would make their eyes bulge.

My ex-wife thought I was crazy, but it was one of my favorite parts of the week.

Today was no different. After offering me some literature, inviting me to a prayer meeting, and assuring me that Jesus gave his life for mankind, I whispered, “Thank God you’re here. I married a Jew and it’s like living with an absolute heathen. Save me!”

Had I been a little nimbler on my feet, I would have also mentioned that our brunch guests were two gay men and their infant son.